Run Bunny, Run!  An MCRKilljoys Fanfiction
by heyimgeorgie
Summary: Creative title, I know. *eye roll*  Been writing about Grace and decided to upload.  Basically, my little slice of the Killjoyverse... Let's see how this goes. :


**A.N- **** Hey fellow Killjoys! Oh boy, first fanfiction! Kinda excited... Well, I've wrote off and on mainly Grace's POV, third person, thinking I was so original at the time... writing about Grace. *facepalm... hehheh* I basically just wanted to contribute to this particular world MCR's built for us all, as well as share my ideas of the Killjoy world? Reviews? I don't mean to go begging, I'd just like to know if I should continue... I'm notorious of just writing without a storyline... :D And ultra descriptice run-ons... **

**-_- Well, here y'all go! :) Enjoy!**

**Chapter One **

At first, all she saw was the bright, sterilized whiteness that could only pass for a cluttered mob of fluorescent lights, but as the spots cleared from her vision, what the girl saw after was _much _worse. There were faces. Grotesque, twisted shapes sprouting masses of black hair, bloodstained lips, sometimes with pairs of crooked teeth. Their profiles appeared to have been scalded with wax, which was a reasonable assumption, as the faces the girl was staring at were actually rubber masks, worn by various Better Living Industries cronies. The Dracs. They surrounded her, arranging or otherwise awaiting the festivities.

Grace's mind raced faster than the Trans-Am. She could only lay back into her restraints, tense with apprehension, and wait for the coming pain. Seeing as they hadn't restrained her mouth…yet, the tiny Killjoy decided now would be the best time to ask.

"_Wh-What're you guys going to do to me?" _

Her voice wavered, still dry from the Zones, and panic. She gritted her teeth, bits of sand cracking in-between her molars. Party Poison would want her to be brave. The Dracs didn't answer. They only kept moving around her, their lab coats _swish-swish-swish_ing to prepare for whatever would happen next. One took some sort of measurement of her arm, the soft latex fingers of a glove pressing against her small bicep like slimy martian skin. The creature then took heart monitor pads and stuck them to their standard places; left wrist, right wrist, below the crook of the left elbow. The air suddenly filled with the frantic pulse of an EKG. Its eyes—or what passed for eyes—holes, more like, scanned her, doing what only Grace could assume were mental calculations of whatever torture chamber they were about to hook her up to.

"**DON'T TOUCH ME!" **she wanted to scream at them. She wanted to hurl out a few choice words Frank had taught her on the sly. Maybe she would even say some she had overheard back when she had secretly watched Ghoul mess around; perfecting the team's arsenal with his God-like mechanical skills…the REALLY bad ones. Frank was a pro at the atomic F-bomb. She almost smiled at the memory, seeing animated Frankie practice his colorful vocabulary to an audience of rayguns and Vend-a-Hack innards. She could yell out expletives to the crew, but it would probably only make the suffering ease less once they got this whole thing on the road.

In the midst of all the electronic beeps and unintelligible Drac gibberish, Grace picked up a new sound, the slide of an automatic door. _Who was coming in here?_ Just when she thought the pit of fear in her stomach couldn't get any lower…

Her eyes widened with fearful recognition. Dr. D had told Grace all about him, back when she was learning that the propaganda she had been spoon-fed since birth was nothing but a sick lie. Long after Battery City had rose from the ashes as a false sanctuary. She longed for those days now, however confusing they had been. She pretty much longed for any place other than in the clutches of Better Living Industries…where she would still be seeing this face from the safety of a two-dimensional poster instead of with her very eyes.

The figure was different from the rest, without a mask, nor scrubs, but he was the most soulless of all. The fluorescents beamed down on the "skin" of the monster's bald head. The synthetic, tough smart-fibers even mimicked the sweat beading on his forehead and running down his neck. He reeked of the outside world: of the Zones and the recycled air of Battery City. He made his way through the sea of henchmen crowding the small room; a gray blotch in an ever-increasing field of white. He walked with an eerie uniformity. He continued across the smooth linoleum with an air of bravado. After all, it wasn't as if he had anything to fear. She was just a small child. A valuable child, nonetheless, but a child all the same. Even if she _was_ capable of holding the man at laser gunpoint, it wouldn't do any good. You see, Korse's life could not end. It was controlled by the push of a button. On. Off. He would work the same as any other machine you'd see in the Zones that were fortunate enough to still be supplied by Dead Pegasus. Of course, in this hypothetical situation, the girl _could_ still shoot him, but if there was any damage, his programming would merely go into emergency shut-down until he had undergone maintenance.

He stopped in front of her. The room was absolutely still now. Other than the machinery and with Grace trying not to breathe too loud, not a sound was made. All eyes were fixed on Korse. Korse's eyes were fixed on the girl.

She felt even more restrained and helpless, like an exotic bug pinned down to a collector's tray. It was as if his burning gaze could physically keep her down. He said nothing, just like his associates, but his unflinching face then crooked into a cruel smile…a sign he was relishing every second of her dread. Grace didn't ask _him _her question. She figured now that he was here, she would get her answer soon enough.

"Soon enough" felt like eternity. Finally, Korse spoke; a low, menacing rasp, meant to force out any or all information from his captives. It was normally only meant for use _after_ brute strength.

"Let us see," he mused, "Exactly how much you can take…" His fabricated voice dripped with venom. He extended an arm and motioned a goon with a flick of the wrist, his eyes never left Grace. The Drac walking up barely shook her out of her frightened trance, but it offered her a chance to look anywhere…_anywhere_ other than Korse's eyes, which now sparkled with artificial malice. It walked towards Korse like a good little brainwashed scientist, reached into its coat and pulled out a much more literal dripping of venom. It was a syringe, filled to the brim with some unnamed, ghastly little fluid that was sure to do the child harm. The needle wasn't capped. Dracs didn't think about the possibility of injury or death. They simply did as commanded. Even if the Drac had somehow managed to stick himself with the poison, one was easy to dispose of, and Korse would simply get another to prepare the toxin for a second attempt. The shot was passed to Korse. He took it in his hand, maniacal grin growing even larger with every second it got closer to the girl's forearm. He wasn't even going to bother with an IV!

Grace took the last few moments of conciseness to send out a silent prayer of thanks.

_Jet-Star, Kobra Kid, Fun Ghoul, Party Poison…_ she lingered on Poison's face most of all. _Thanks for protecting me while you could. It's too late for me now…I can only hope that you guys aren't in the same situation as I am. _Grace could feel the start of the barb where her arm hairs stood straight on end…_Be careful with Korse and all his crazies. You can beat Better Living Industries. I KNOW you can. I guess you can consider that as my last wish to you. Do it for me. Do it for all the zonerunners. Do it for the crash-queens. Do it for the motorbabies. For Showpony and Dr. Death-Defying... _She was on the verge of tears. Grace was afraid of dying. She held onto a tiny shred of hope. Maybe…maybe after all of this bad stuff, she'd get to see her mom again…

The tiny prick of a needle felt like a grenade when it touched her arm. Like it would have both blown herself to shreds and sent Korse flying across the room, dead as well. A heavy, almost acidic burning then blossomed from the incision point, to the rest of her arm and all across her small body. It _hurt_. There was _nothing but the burning!_ Grace wondered if they had restrained her mouth now. If not, they probably would be soon. She had a feeling that she was probably screaming. Korse would probably feel as if the sounds of torture were an opening track to a My Chemical Romance CD. Music to his sadist ears. She could visualize that emotionless smirk now, his greedy eyes watching her weak fight against the drug. He would be leaving her, with his unnatural glide, sliding towards the exit, henchmen trailing loyally behind. To simply rot in this chair she could no longer sense she was in. Everything was slowing down, fading out… but not to black.

Instead of seeing the darkness she now welcomed, the unforgiving sun was there to great her. She was back in the Zones… somewhere near the diner? Obviously desert, she noted through the haze. There was a disembodied feeling of grit underneath Grace's feet. The anguish of the sharp scald was still white-hot in her limbs, in her head, everywhere. Undying. She tried to scream. Just once, to try and take anything away from the pain. Her mouth wouldn't open. It was as if she had lockjaw. Grace could barely determine the rest of her surroundings, but she didn't have to. Though it had somewhat gone unnoticed due to the physical pain, all Grace needed to see was right in front of her…

Rayguns didn't normally leave bloodstain. Just smoking holes the size of an old five-cent piece. Whatever flesh that had been there before was almost always charred into oblivion after the shot.

Yet there it was, the Trans-am, half-dried blood now mingling with the graffiti.


End file.
